


all the pieces there will fit to make you whole

by tosca1390



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s doing this on purpose, he thinks. He’s sure of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the pieces there will fit to make you whole

**Author's Note:**

> In the same world as **if i could turn you on**. Modern College AU.

*

“Hi, Mr. Snow.”

Jon can’t help the twist of his mouth as he glances up from his beer and his notes. Dany stands before him, a smile as sleek as her hair curving her mouth. In the darkness of the bar, she is wisps of silvery shadow, pale and slim. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer Professor?” she teases, tilting her head. Her hair slides across the pale line of her throat, nearly white against the deep violet of her sheer blouse.

He colors and glances back down at his notes, the chicken-scrawl there. She’s doing this on purpose, he thinks. He’s sure of it. Professor Lannister placed her in Jon’s discussion section, and she teases and goads him weekly. She comes to his office hours and argues with him over the merits of faith-based initiatives, and the Electoral College. In lecture, she sits near him and offers running commentary on Lannister’s lectures. She and her friends come to the rugby matches; his teammate Sam is dating one of her girl friends, so it makes sense. But it still keeps her in his orbit, distracting him from notes and papers whenever he thinks he sees her hair, or catches her scent in the air.

Thing is, he’s starting to like it. That unsettles him.

The chair across from him scrapes against the floor. He looks over as she sits, a vodka cranberry cradled in her slim hand. “Are you old enough for that?” he asks, nodding at her drink. She’s a sophomore, after all; he has too much of his father’s stubborn nobility to let anything slide.

She smiles slowly, drawing her fingers along the rim of the glass. “I’m 21, don’t worry. I started university late.”

The crowd is loud near the opposite end of the bar; they are all pinned to the large televisions, a football game nearing its conclusion. He glances over just for a moment before he looks back to Dany, a weird tightness settling in his chest. “Oh, okay,” he mutters.

“So, you either hate me or you don’t know what to do with me,” she says bluntly between sips.

Jon’s mouth falls open for a moment. “I don’t hate you,” he sputters out finally, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“So you don’t know what to do with me,” she says, voice low and eyes darkening.

He shuts his notebook and takes a long swallow of beer. “Are you testing me?” he asks a little sharply.

Under the table, her foot nudges his, their knees brushing. “What took you so long to figure it out?” she asks softly.

His face flushes; he’s grateful for the dim lighting of the bar in that moment, no matter how much it wrecks with his reading. “I’ve been told I don’t know much.”

“That’s not true at all, Jon,” she says, lips curling over her straw. “You’re one of the smartest people in the program.”

“About…girls,” he says quickly, fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table.

“Ah,” she says.

He slides his fingers through the condensation on his pint glass, pursing his mouth. The air thickens between them, settling on his shoulders. Dany crawls under his skin and scrapes at him, makes him want to untangle the knots solidifying in his middle from his awkward childhood, his explosion of a relationship with Ygritte, the constant need to push and prove himself. There is an effortlessness to her that he covets. Mostly, though, he wonders.

“Why me?” he asks after a moment, tongue thick in his mouth.

Dany smiles, white and sharp in the dim light. She pushes her hair off her shoulders, gaze fixed on him. “I like you.”

“It’s that simple?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“For me, yes,” she says. Her fingers find his across the table. Her touch is warm, sending a shudder down his spine. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes with men before, Jon. Now, I’m trusting my instincts.”

He swallows hard, brushing the hair back from his brow. “I’m your TA,” he mutters. “And your section leader.”

Her smile grows, sharpens. “If I don’t think you’re being tough enough with me, I’ll let you know. Don’t worry,” she teases.

Wetting his lips, he lets his fingertips drag against hers for a moment before he pulls his hand back. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. His hesitation grates at him; everything in him wants to kiss her, take her to his apartment and press her back against the wall, and then argue over the benefits of a parliamentarian system versus a representative democracy. There’s an instinctual rightness to the feeling, to how he looks at her.

Dany laughs softly, a kind quiet sound that reminds him of bells, and summer. It warms him deep in his middle. “I think you do,” she murmurs.

At the other end of the bar, the patrons explode into shouts and cheers. She finishes her drink and rises. Her blue-violet eyes linger on his face, his flushed cheeks. With a slight sway, she walks away from him, past the bar and down the hall towards the restrooms.

Jon sits there for a moment, in the clamor of a celebrating bar. Then, he gets up and follows her steps, as if drawn to flame.

The hall is cool and shadowed. She waits, leaning against the wall between the doors to both restrooms. His breath sticks in his throat as he stops in front of her. Fingers curling into themselves, he reaches out for her waist. She is small, so small, and yet a bright force of nature. He can’t help but be swept up, he thinks.

“Come on,” she says with a smile, taking his hand and pulling him into the women’s restroom.

He lets the door swing shut behind him and then crowds her up against the tiled wall. A sharp huff of a laugh presses out from her mouth. She comes up to his shoulder; too far to lean. So, he grips her at the waist and holds her up, pinned between his chest and the wall. Her arms slide around his neck as she leans in, her mouth ghosting his.

“You certainly know _something_ , Jon Snow,” she whispers, breath warm on his lips. Her thigh hitches across his hip.

Face warm, he kisses her for the first time then. Her mouth opens under his immediately as she surges forward in his arms, their teeth clacking together. She tastes sweet and tart under his tongue. Her fingers curl into his hair, tugging as she sighs into his mouth. One hand falls to her thigh, skimming the hem of her skirt, just at the knee, as his free hand slides into the smooth lengths of her hair.

“I think we could make a good team,” she whispers as he moves his mouth from hers down the length of her throat.

“So do I,” he murmurs against the thin skin of her neck, teeth grazing along the pulse there.

Her hips twitch and press against him, a slow lingering sort of roll. He hisses low in his throat, heat lingering low in his middle. His fingers dig into the bare smooth skin of her thigh as he inches the length of her skirt up towards her hips. She sighs, her hands sliding from his hair across his shoulders and down his chest. Her fingers pluck at the buttons of his shirt, moving down the length of his torso one by one.

Everything moves very fast, after that. He finds the line of her panties, sliding his fingers under the cotton to the slick heat of her. His thumb presses at her clit as he moves two fingers inside her, curling just so. She moans his name, soft and low in his ear, as her mouth lingers near his jawline and temple. Her fingers unzip his jeans and grasp his cock, warm and firm. His hips jerk into her grasp and his mouth opens on her collarbone, tasting salt and sweat there.

“Jon, _please_ ,” she murmurs, voice catching in her throat. He licks a line up her throat and circles her clit with his thumb. The air is thick and heavy with the smell of beer and _her_. He adds a third finger and kisses her as her breathing picks up, and the snap of her hips stutters. She comes, biting at his lips; he swallows her moans, pressing her hard into the wall.

She tugs on his wrist. When he slips them out from under her skirt, his fingers are wet in the shaky yellow light. Cheeks flushed pink, she smiles and brings his fingers to her mouth, licking with the flat of her small pink tongue.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he moans, voice thick and low.

Laughing, she pushes down his jeans and boxers to his knees. “We’re going to have so much _fun_ ,” she whispers, thighs bracketing his hips. She arches into his chest and kisses him, mouth wet and open and warm. She is fire in his arms, hot to the touch and irresistible.

In his eagerness and want, he tears her underwear. She doesn’t mind.

Later, curled in his bed with pizza and beer, she tells him about her older brother who forced her to delay going to school to help him in his business adventures, and he tells her about the weird dynamics of his family, the mother he’s never met, the brothers and sisters he rarely sees, now. Her hair falls around them like a curtain, a fresh spring breeze curling through the room.

He falls asleep with her nestled against his side, a smile on his face.

*


End file.
